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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22918216">Crescit Eundo</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NekoAisu/pseuds/dragonsong'>dragonsong (NekoAisu)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Commissioned Works [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV, Final Fantasy XV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Eventual Romance, F/M, Final Fantasy XV Spoilers, Flirting, Gift Fic, Gift Work, Male-Female Friendship, Miqo'te (Final Fantasy XIV), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Slow Build</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 16:34:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,960</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22918216</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NekoAisu/pseuds/dragonsong</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Where are we heading?”<br/>“To Y’jhimei,” Ignis replies, neutrality somehow cutting. He very pointedly does not look her way.<br/>Z’ahra nods, silently wishing she could thwap him over the head with her staff, and says, “Thank you.”<br/>“No problem.”<br/>Prompto groans. It was going to be a <i>long<i> drive.</i></i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ignis Scientia/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Commissioned Works [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2011288</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Crescit Eundo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/XionNight/gifts">XionNight</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Public release of a piece written for XionNight, featuring their OC Z'ahra! ^^ &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There are few better ways to spend an evening that being javelined through the Between from your home to a separate universe. Well… not quite. Truth be told, it is one of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>worst </span>
  </em>
  <span>ways to spend an evening. Stumbling from the tail end of a scuffle with Garuda into a whole other world is terrifying, unfamiliar landmarks and stars visible once the wind settles only serving to drive the point that this is far, </span>
  <em>
    <span>far </span>
  </em>
  <span>away from home. Gripping her staff tighter, Z’ahra allows herself a moment to calm down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Y’jhimei came this way, followed these steps, and ended up in such a place, she would be solidly on her sibling’s trail. Even if said trail leads to a new world. With new monsters. And a distinct lack of Linkpearl signal. She scuffs her boot in the dirt to ignore the growing pit in her stomach. Dust clings to her toes, reddish and chalklike. There is no way this is Gyr Abania with its red cliffs and iron-rich stone. The air is different, the smells are different, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>aether </span>
  </em>
  <span>is different, even. She pulls at it, grasping for magic that does not want to obey, and feels frissions of electric sensation zip up her arms from fingertip to shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is not Eorzea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She casts out, searching without looking, allowing her internal aether to wash over stone and sand. It comes back empty. No trace of Y’jhimei’s familiar trail. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walking nets no more clues than standing still had. She climbs up on boulders, hops over old bits of fencing. Ducks into buildings long since abandoned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are strange, rusting metal automatons left among dry brush. They bear no insignias. Nothing of the Ironworks or of Garlemald. It’s a good sign, if the reach of their soldiery has not made it this far (assuming she is truly just in a far-off part of Gyr Abania, possibly even Thavnair), or a terrible one─an omen that her theory is true. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The reason she couldn’t find Y’jhimei at the summoning site, how the aether fights her will, why her Echo shuddered under a force she does not yet understand─it all points to a conclusion she would rather ignore. One that is making more and more sense the longer she searches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are roads paved with materials she cannot name, smooth and hot to the touch, and more of those strange automatons rolling down one way or the other. The shinier ones have symbols, but they are unidentifiable. They do not match Grand Companies or even smaller alliances. A few were playing music, though there were no bards or orchestrion equipment visible. It’s strange. All of it is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She continues her investigation until sunset. The air thickens the darker it becomes. She is nearly to the source of a plume of smoke (adventurers, she hopes) when her next step sinks into the earth. Something groans behind her, loud and metallic, and the strange softness suddenly makes sense. These are Voidsent of some sort. She’s seen others of their type and felled hundreds in her time. This will be of no consequence. The moment she is alight with magic, however, it sputters out. She tries again, pulling from her internal reserves, and manages a devastating few strikes before her spells simply refuse to be cast. She recites them, shapes them with what is left of her aether, and calls upon that power─nothing happens. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, when stuck between a rock and a hard place, you climb the rock and burn things from above! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which is a great strategy, considering the large plateau not too far away is the source of the crystalline smoke she’s been trekking towards. Making a break for it, Z’ahra manages to avoid tripping over tall weeds and assorted foot-trapping miscellany until she is up on the platform and staring determinedly at the Voidsent who are… not following her, anymore. They stare, heads pointed in her direction and wings flapping. They’re simply </span>
  <em>
    <span>imps</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Not nearly worthy of note, but they still look different enough to give pause. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything here is </span>
  <em>
    <span>off. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Of all the things she’s noticed and made note of, the monsters not being the ones she knows is the most worrying. Y’jhimei is scholarly. She’s always been the sort to get up close and personal with all the beings she should otherwise avoid. Knowing that she is somewhere out here─wherever “here” is─and likely inappropriately armed for the amount of travel she will have to do sets Z’ahra’s blood aflame and tail lashing. She is beyond worried, beyond </span>
  <em>
    <span>furious, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and will be having more than a few words with her sister when they reunite. At the least, Y’jhimei should have brought </span>
  <em>
    <span>her, </span>
  </em>
  <span>if not another warrior of their tribe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By Rhalgr’s sixth chakra, this is a mess. An entire, whole-dzo-level mess. Sighing, Z’ahra resolves herself to see it fixed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But first, she needs rest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The plateau she stands on is high up and seemingly uninteresting to the nocturnal fauna prowling the area outside blue-white runes. She steps on one of the symbols and it seeps aether into her from sole to core. Seeking the replenishment the rest of the world denies, she sits down, crosses her legs, and meditates. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It is no substitute for sleeping, but she’s dealt with worse than a night without proper rest. By the time morning comes, she has consumed all that she can from the bounty the worn circle offered and managed a short nap. Unfortunately, she is not awoken by the sun rising, but that of the sharp echo of gunfire. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gunfire. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The only people who have guns are Garleans, rich mercenaries, and the Skysteel Manufactory in Ishgard. Seeing as how Ishgardians keep to themselves and there are a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot </span>
  </em>
  <span>more shots fired than could come from a couple of well-off guns-for-hire, she picks herself up along with her staff and follows the noise. Wherever there are Garlean troops, there will be signal for her linkpearl. She has more than enough firepower to take down a few squadrons, anyways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hurrying through the brush again, she hops onto the road and breaks into a sprint. The sun is only beginning to rise, the first few rays turning the sky a deep crimson. It is no brighter by the time she reaches the gates of the base. It’s barely worth calling a Castrum, for all the scale and lack of grandeur it displays. It’s tall, but not grandiose─grey stone and metal plating a far cry from the Garlean architecture all too common among their fortifications─and the gates are wide open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That… isn’t a bad sign. Z’ahira would sigh of relief if she wasn’t well on her way to winded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a promising sign, if there are rebels afoot. Rebels or sellswords, one of the two. Most likely the former, given the rate of deaths among the latter when pitted against the bayonets and sabers of a Garlean legion. If not them, then it could only be infighting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She skids around corners of corrugated metal and scaffolding, the gunfire having calmed to a few short bursts at a time, rather than the rapid cracking it had been before. It’s easier to follow and less overwhelming, this way, but the presence of gunfire at </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>means that an enemy is afoot. At the end of a hallway formed from stacks of huge metal crates, she spots people. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They look like civilians, if she ignores the weapons they wield and the magic they unleash, and all are distinctly Hyuran. Well, maybe not the heavyset one. He could very well be Roegaedyn with shoulders like that. Their lack of armor is disconcerting, but being a mage whose idea of protection is incinerating the opposition, she can’t criticize. They seem to be faring well eno─or not. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ouch. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That’s going to leave a bruise. Or ten. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lifts her staff, aether swelling beneath her skin and crackling like a blaze, before unleashing it in a brilliant arc. The fire roars through the air before latching onto metal-suited soldiery. They </span>
  <em>
    <span>shriek, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the sound distinctly inhuman, and what sympathy Z’ahra may have had for ill-fated conscripts turns to ash along with their armor. Those were not people. She has no idea if they were </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever </span>
  </em>
  <span>people. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of their screeching resolates in her mind nonetheless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is no need for a follow up. The metal soldiers go down one after the other as heat stresses their cores to bursting. It’s anticlimactic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the people calls to her, soot streaked across his cheek and hair in disarray, “I don’t suppose you could have shouted a warning?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Friendly fire too much for adventurers?” She shoots back, staff in hand but otherwise at ease. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t call that </span>
  <em>
    <span>friendly,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>another grumbles. Z’ahra wonders what he eats to be that large as a Hyur. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugs, scuffing her shoe against the pavement, and asks, “I don’t suppose any of you know where I can find a Miqo’te by the name of Y’jhimei?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The group pauses. Someone coughs in a way that has nothing to do with residual smoke. One of them looks distinctly resigned when he admits, “Yeah. We do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Z’ahra blinks. She raises a brow. That was surprisingly easy. “Are you wont to joke with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Course not,” the large one says. “Name’s Gladiolus. This is Ignis─” he gestures to the tall, Elezen-like one “─and these two are Noctis and Prompto.” He points to a black-haired man with the first name and the blond standing next to him with the next. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The name’s Z’ahra,” she replies, smiling pleasantly. “If you are lying to me about Y’jhimei, I will burn you to a crisp.” Her tail whips about in warning and Ignis seems more than understanding of her threat being more than mere talk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Noctis stretches, back popping, and tugs Prompto to follow along with him as they wander off. “We’re gonna kill the generator, Iggy. Be right back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment they’re out of earshot, Ignis seems to become colder. “What do you want with Noctis?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want </span>
  <em>
    <span>Y’jhimei,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Z’ahra says sharply. “Have you her whereabouts, or do I need to take my business elsewhere?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gladiolus crosses his arms before commenting, “Y’know, Iggy, she’s not from around here. Do y’ think cat-people want anything with the Lucian line? ‘Cuz I don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Miqo’te.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, Miqo’te don’t want anything to do with Lucis. Good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Z’ahra nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stand there, tension far from lessening but shattered nonetheless when Noctis and Prompto come walking back from around the corner to complain about the generator having failed before they could blow it up or stick a sword into a control panel like video-game protagonists. Whatever that means. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Noctis looks between Ignis, Gladiolus, and Z’ahra before asking, “So… pit stop to see Y’jhimei?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prompto shrugs. “Sounds good to me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gladiolus agrees easily enough and Ignis follows grudgingly. Z’ahra wonders what his problem is. She follows behind them on the way out of the base, Prompto filling the air with chatter about their world─Eos─and how he wonders if there’ll be another fight because there was one with Garuda when Y’jhimei appeared and─ “Please tell me you did not allow her to fight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y’jhimei?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prompto locks his fingers together and rests them behind his head, walking at a leisurely pace. “Nah,” he replies, nose wrinkling. “Noct went wild, though. He had a lot of feathers stuck in his hair afterward. Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Z’ahra frowns, tone neutral when she says, “She is not a warrior. At least, not yet. Some of my tribe are more scholarly than others, so those who can fight do so to protect those who do not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. That’s sorta like the Kingsglaive here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the mention of the ‘Glaive, Gladiolus drops back to add in his two Gil, followed by Noctis who has some strong opinions on the militarization of magic, and eventually even Ignis. Though, he likely only joins the conversation to remind them that the Regalia is to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>left </span>
  </em>
  <span>and not the rightward curve they were beginning to make. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Upon arriving at the Regalia, Z’ahra decides she does not like technology in Eos. “What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A car?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She snorts, ear flicking. “You do not sound so sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone else piles in, Prompto sliding into the backseat and leaving the passenger side open. “Sit down and buckle up. She won’t bite,” Noctis says, yawning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Z’ahra does so gingerly and with much trepidation, struggling with the seatbelt. Once she has managed to secure herself, Ignis starts the engine and all her fur stands on end. The rumbling of the automaton beneath her is foreign and </span>
  <em>
    <span>deep, </span>
  </em>
  <span>not unlike that of a roused beast. She does not like it one bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignis pulls onto the road and begins the drive toward… wherever they’re going. She realizes that she never asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are we heading?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To Y’jhimei,” Ignis replies, neutrality somehow cutting. He very pointedly does not look her way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Z’ahra nods, silently wishing she could thwap him over the head with her staff, and says, “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No problem.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prompto groans and Z’ahra glances back at him in question. He waves her off with the excuse of a backache. Ignis raises a brow at the same time Gladiolus coughs into his hand. “Is everything alright back there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just fine, Iggy,” Prompto responds. “Just fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if nobody is dying, I hope you’re prepared for a six hour drive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Z’ahra blinks. “What’s an hour? A bell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dunno,” Prompto replies. “How long is a bell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She explains with halting attempts at quantifying time outside of the terms she already knows. Ignis nods toward the end. “Sounds to be about an hour, give or take a few minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So… six bells,” she starts, internally wincing at the thought of enduring the rumbling of the car and Ignis’s hot-and-cold responses. “Great.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Camping is a familiar affair, if she ignores the things called </span>
  <em>
    <span>batteries </span>
  </em>
  <span>and how Ignis has managed to procure an entire stove and not just cook over the fire the way she is used to. They have bedrolls and a tent, the materials unfamiliar but the construction standard enough. It takes a few days of camping (and sharing a bedroll) before she asks, “How far is Y’jhimei?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignis, having calmed down considerably the more she proved her trustworthiness, gestures vaguely with his can of Ebony. “A few more days. Hunts do slow our progress, but they are a necessary drain, unless you’d prefer to be out of food.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her ears press back at the thought. “You make good meals. It would not be a good thing to be without.” She’s been spoiled by his dinners and breakfasts, even the snacks he makes to tide them all over during their expeditions to slay monsters and cull wildlife where needed. That, and having a bedmate whose idea of restful sleep didn’t involve poking her in the stomach with their elbow every ten minutes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Z’ahra smiles, comfortable now that they can converse so easily, and asks, “Fishing for compliments, are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would it be too </span>
  <em>
    <span>fishy </span>
  </em>
  <span>for me to ask for your opinion outright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughs, the tip of her tail flicking with her mirth. “That was </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrible! </span>
  </em>
  <span>How you manage to make those charming is beyond me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles and it’s an expression Z’ahra has come to covet. He looks personable, almost fragile in his openness, and her heart is beating double-time before she even registers she’s been staring. Ignis is not someone she would have thought of as someone she would wish to court. His first impression was less than kind and the first few days after that were rocky to match, but now? She would quite like to kiss him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She instead settles on attempting to joke back, flushing red when he slips compliments in between laughably masterful puns. The compliments are genuine, she has learned, because Ignis is not one to spout flattery. The type of commentary that rings in her ears for minutes afterward, if not hours. Her favorite to this day is when Ignis had watched her decimate some bees by Ravatough and said, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You could give Ifrit a run for his money.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He asks after her aether, her health, if she is up to another hunt or if it would be better to turn in early and plan their agenda for the following day. He is </span>
  <em>
    <span>doting </span>
  </em>
  <span>and after being stared down at first meeting, Z’ahra is pleasantly surprised to find many a new side to him. It is also that knowledge that prompts her to ask, “Is aught amiss? You seem tense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should make it to Y’jhimei tomorrow,” he says, more serious than he has been while cracking jokes peppered with affection, and the stiffness to his words is obvious. “Will you be leaving?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Z’ahra takes a moment to think on it. She had intended to simply find Y’jhimei and head back, however they’re supposed to do that, and call it a day. Meeting Ignis threw a wrench into all her plans and assumptions in the best of ways, but thinking of leaving now is… bad. Absolutely bad. It feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrible. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignis raises a brow, but it’s far from accusatory. “Staying for a bit longer, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she replies, searching for an excuse that isn’t a confession. “There are things I need know before I can safely attempt to return home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignis smiles again and it’s just as devastating as the time before. His shoulders relax and he seems more than pleased when he says, “I’d not want you to leave quite yet, either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Under the light of the moon, sitting on a rain-damp camp chair, Z’ahra knows there is no place she would rather be.  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hmu on:<br/>tumblr ─ https://ffxivimagines.tumblr.com/<br/>twitter ─ twitter.com/FlamingAceKiri<br/>discord ─ NekoAisu#7099</p></blockquote></div></div>
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